Addy cast a furtive look around and ducked her head. “Are you trying to tell me I have some kind of mafia trust fund?”
I snorted. “Sure, if that’s what you want to call it?”
“This is so fucking crazy,” she murmured. I watched her laugh softly to herself as she disappeared into a fitting room my men had already cleared. The door closed behind her, but my body remained alert.
A decade surrounded by hostility had taught me to measure space instinctively: You clock entry points, exit lines and angles of approach.
When the door chimed and two men stepped inside, I felt the shift before I saw them.
They did not belong on this street; in fact, they did not belong in my territory at all.
These men knew exactly where they were and didn’t give a fuck. That was the problem. They had the audacity to move as if they were assessing ownership. I felt my muscles tighten, ready to pounce, but then I remembered who I was with.
Fuck!
One met my eyes immediately and I saw recognition flicker in them. Not surprise, but calculation. They had come here on purpose.
Addy reemerged from the fitting room at the worst possible moment.
She stepped out adjusting the strap of a dress, completely unaware the atmosphere had thickened by several degrees.
“Well?” she asked me, turning in a slow circle. “Am I mysterious or am I overdressed for brunch?”
I was rendered speechless for a moment because she looked stunning in this dress, but then the gaze of both men snapped to her. Stepping forward instantly, I settled my hand at the small of her back and spread my fingers just enough to communicate two messages at once: she was not alone and she was not available.
I ground my teeth at the realization that I also might’ve just put a target on her back. Things could not have gone worse.
“It looks good.” I barely glanced at her, and her brown eyes narrowed slightly.
The taller of the two men smirked faintly and Addy finally noticed them. Instead of backing off like a reasonable person would, she smiled.
“Oh, hi,” she said to them with a cute little wave.
My composure was thinning dangerously and I wanted to rip their fucking eyeballs out for staring at her in her pretty new dress. They didn’t answer at first and she walked a step closer, unaware of the powder keg she was fucking tap-dancing on.
“Question,” she continued. “Does this place run small or are all the cupcakes finally catching up to me?”
The shorter one blinked, while the taller one’s gaze flicked to me once again.
I did not move. I did not raise my voice. I let my hand remain exactly where it was on her back, thumb pressing slightly deeper into her waist.
Any move could be the wrong one here.
“We don’t need help,” I said stiffly.
Addy glanced up at me. “I wasn’t asking for assistance. I was asking for an outsider’s perspective.”
“They aren’t staff.”
“Oh.” She turned back to the men, her eyes wide with apology. “Sorry. How embarrassing!”
The shorter one actually laughed this time, then muttered something in rapid Spanish. Knowing that not understanding my opponent was less than ideal, I tensed even more.
“Yeah, my bad. I tend to do that. It’s a habit I’m working on,” Addy said looking at him.
“Who are you talking to?” I looked at her with furrowed brows.
She pointed at the men. “Ummm, them?”